started forward, and then checked himself.
'If them Mexicans bungled it
Red waited a little longer and then, knowing better than to go on his feet along the old floor of the hall, inched slowly over it on his stomach, careful to let each board take his weight gradually. Reaching the second door on his left he slowly pushed it open, chuckling with pride at his friend's forethought in oiling the one squeaking hinge. Closing it gently he scratched on the floor twice and then went on again toward the answering scratch. An hour passed in the softest of whispering and when he at last entered his own room again and carefully stood up, the darkness hid a rare smile on his tanned and leathery face, which an exultant thought had lighted.
'Th' Old Days: They're comin' back again!' he gloated. 'Me, an' Hoppy, an' the Kid! Glory be!' and the smile persisted until he awakened at dawn, when it moved from the wrinkled face to the secrecy of his heart.
If Sandy Bend had been seized with a local spasm when the senior member of the T & C had learned of the robbery of the Mesquite bank, it now was having a very creditable fit. The little printing-shop was the scene of bustling activities and soon a small bundle of handbills was on its way to the office of the cattle king. McCullough, drive-boss
'Hello, Charley!' he grunted. 'What's loose now?'
'Plenty's loose!' snapped Twitchell. 'Ridley's been murdered by one of Kane's gang. Shot in th' back—head near blowed off. There's only four men up there now, an' they may be dead by this time. Take as many as you need an' go up there—we just bought a herd of SV cows, if there's any left. But I want th' man that killed Ridley. That's first. I want th' man who robbed th' bank—that's second. An' I want Pecos Kane—that's first, second, an' third. Blast it! I growed up with Tom Ridley!'
'I'll take twenty men an' bring you th' whole gang—but some of 'em will shore spoil before we can get 'em here, this kind of weather. Do I burn that end of th' town?'
'You'll burn nothin',' retorted Twitchell. 'You'll not risk a man until you have to. You'll stay on th' ranch an' watch th' cattle. I've lost one good man now, an' I'm spendin' money before I risk losin' any more. There's a bundle of handbills. When they've been digested by that bunch of assassins you can sit in th' bunkhouse an' have yore game delivered to you, all tied up, an' tagged.'
'Orders is orders,' growled McCullough; 'but some are cussed fool orders. If you want somebody to set on th' front porch an' whittle, why'n blazes are you cuttin'
'I'm cuttin' you out because I want my best man out there!' retorted the senior member heatedly. 'You may find it lively settin', an' have to do yore whittlin' with rifles an' six-guns. Look out that somebody don't whittle you at eight hundred while yo're settin' on th' front porch! You talk like you think yo're goin' to a prayer meetin'!'
'I'm hopin' they come that close,' said McCullough, picking up the package of bills. 'So Tom's gone, huh? Charley, there ain't many of us left no more. Remember how you an' Ridley an' me used to go off trappin' them winters, hundreds of miles into th' mountains, with only what we could easy carry on our backs? That was livin'.'
'You get out of here, you old fraud!' roared Twitchell, 'Ain't I got enough to bother me now? Take care of yoreself, Mac; an' my way's worth tryin', an' tryin' good. If it don't work, then we'll have to try yore way.'
'All right; I'll give it a fair ride, Charley; but it will be time wasted,' replied the trail-boss. 'In that case I'm takin' a dozen men. We relay at th' Squaw Creek corrals, an' again at Sweetwater Bottoms. Send a wagon after us—you'll know what we'll need. You send a new boss to th' Sweetwater, for I'm pickin' up Waffles. He's one of th' best men you got, an' he's been picketed at that two-bits station long enough.'
'Good luck, Mac. Take who you want. Yo're th' boss. Any play you make will be backed to th' limit by th' T & C.'
When McCullough got outside he found a crowd of men which the hard-riding couriers had sent in from all parts of the town. They shouted questions and got terse answers as he picked his dozen, the twelve best out of a crowd of good men, all known to him in person and by deeds. The lucky dozen smiled exultantly at the scowling unfortunates and dashed up the street in a bunch after their grizzled pacemaker. One of the last, glancing behind him, saw a stern-faced, sorrowful man in a black store suit standing in the office door looking wistfully after them; and the rider, gifted with understanding, raised his hand to his hat brim and faced around.
'Th' old man's sorry he's boss,' he confided to his nearest companion.
'An' there's plenty up in Mesquite that will be th' same,' came the reply.
Despite his years McCullough held his lead without crowding from the rear, for he was of the hard-riding breed and toughened to the work. When the first relay was obtained at Squaw Creek that evening there were several who felt the strain more than the leader. A hasty supper and they were gone again, pounding into the gathering dusk of the northwest. All night they rode along a fair trail, strung out behind a man who kept to it with uncanny certainty. Dawn found them changing mounts in Sweetwater Bottoms, but without the snap displayed at the Squaw. Waffles, one-time foreman of the O-Bar-O, needed all his habitual repression to keep from favoring them with a war dance when he heard his luck. Impatiently waiting for the surprised but enthusiastic cook to prepare their breakfasts, they made short work of the meal when it appeared and rolled on again, silent, grim, heavy-lidded, but cheerful. They gladly would do more than that for McCullough, Twitchell—and Tom Ridley. The second evening found them riding up to the buildings of the Question-Mark, guns across their pommels, and they were thankfully received.
Mesquite awakened the next morning to a surprise, for handbills were scattered on its few streets and had been pushed under doors, one of them under the front door of Kane's gambling-hall. When Johnny came down to breakfast the proprietor handed him the sheet, pointing to its flaming headline.
'Read that, me bye!' cried Quayle.
Johnny obeyed:
He thoughtlessly shoved it into his pocket and shrugged his shoulders. 'That man Twitchell thinks a lot of his money,' he said. 'But, if it's his way, it's his way. I'm glad to say it ain't mine.'
Quayle looked at him from under heavy brows and smiled faintly. 'Mac's here, hisself,' he said. 'They've raised th' ante, an' if I was as young as you I'd have a try at th' game. An', me bye, it isn't only th' money; 'tis a duty, an' a pleasure. Go in an' eat, now, before that wild Mick av a cook scalps ye.'
Hoofbeats pounded up the street from the south and a Mexican galloped past towards Kane's, followed on foot by several idlers.
'There ye go!' savagely growled the proprietor; 'an' I hope ye saw a-plenty, ye Mexican dog!'
After a hurried breakfast Johnny went up to Kane's and found an air of tension and suspicion. Men were going in and out of the door through the partition and the half-friendly smiles which he had received the night before were everywhere missing. Feeling the chill of his reception did not blunt his powers of observation, for he saw that both Red Thompson and Bill Long, being unaccredited strangers, drew an occasional suspicious glance. The former was seated in a chair at the lower end of the bar, his back to the wall and only a step from the dining-room door. Bill
